


Fate Comes Early

by Emrys_Fae



Series: Fate and Choice [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Dark, M/M, Manipulation, Possessive Behavior, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Stockholm Syndrome, but you know happy about it, culturally approved kidnapping, somewhat dubcon kissing, stockholmed into a relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emrys_Fae/pseuds/Emrys_Fae
Summary: Another AU of Fate Turned ChoiceObi-Wan's mission to Mandalore goes very different when Mandalorians start recognizing him as their Be'alor. Of course, Mandalorians being sensible, they do the only thing that makes sense. They retrieve their Be'alor.“The Mand’alor belongs to their people,” Fett said quietly. “And the Be’alor to their Mand’alor and people both.” Fett’s breath was light against his jaw. “You’ll see, you’ll understand.”
Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Fate and Choice [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691467
Comments: 375
Kudos: 1760
Collections: Star Wars





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It doesn't matter how often I post anything, I still get massively anxious whenever I post anything. So, *thank you* all of you, for being so encouraging about me posting this AU, it made me feel ten times less anxious about posting this. I hope you all enjoy yet another version of my version of the slightly dark and possessive soul mate trope.

Obi-Wan held back an annoyed sigh as yet another Mandalorian crouched in front of him where Obi-Wan had been _trying—_ failing—to meditate. The Mandalorian stayed crouch for a long minute, just bserving him from behind their helmet as though Obi-Wan was some fascinating specimen.

“I think you might be right.” The new Mandalorian said to his compatriot, and he sounded a little awed. “We’re sure he doesn’t have it?”

Obi-Wan added a mental tally to ‘awed’ where he was keeping track of how different people reacted to him.

Awed, annoyed, shocked, delighted, angry… there were a few other reactions that he’d been on the receiving end, but those were the five most common.

The Mandalorian closer to the door shook his head. “He was questioned, but never made any indication, and then they strip searched him when they brought him in and there’s _nothing_.”

Obi-Wan was growing very tired of the way all of the Mandos tended to speak about him like he wasn’t even in the room. Worse, the way they spoke about him like he wasn’t there and Obi-Wan _still_ didn’t have a clue what they _meant_. He still didn’t know what this ‘it’ was that they thought he was supposed to have, and none of his questions about it had been answered.

“That doesn’t make sense.” The first Mandalorian said, shaking their head. “It’s faint since he’s not met the ‘alor, but it’s what I always imagined. But then, I never met Jaster’s Be’alor, she died before I was born.”

This wasn’t the first Mandalorian who had mentioned Obi-Wan needing to meet the ‘alor. While Obi-Wan’s Mando’a comprehension was still lower than he’d like, even someone who knew no Mando’a at all could figure out what that meant. He also recognized the name Jaster from his readings on recent Mandalorian history. He’d been the Mand’alor over a decade ago before he’d been killed and his adopted son Jango Fett had taken his place.

Jango Fett had been killed nearly five years ago, though, and those that followed him had been wiped out or assimilated into either Death Watch or New Mandalore.

Obi-Wan had been under the impression that there hadn’t been anyone recognized as Mand’alor in his place. That was one of the reasons that Satine’s pacifist movement had made as much progress as it had, at least as far as Obi-Wan had understood.

The Mandalorian was still crouched in front of him, watching him closely.

Obi-Wan made a face at the Mandalorian—he’d tried being polite at the beginning, but at this point he was just tired.

This whole mission had been a disaster from the very start. Qui-Gon had warned him. This was Mandalorian space, and Mandalorians didn’t tend to be very fond of Jedi and the likelihood that they might run into trouble was very high.

But _this_ wasn’t what Qui-Gon had prepped him for, and at this point Obi-Wan was no longer sure of the best way to handle it.

“Do you need anything?” the Mandalorian asked, and he sounded annoyingly genuine.

Obi-Wan gave the same answer he’d given to the last Mandalorian to ask. “To be let go.” A tilt of the helmet was his only response and Obi-Wan sighed. “And some water would be nice, I’m starting to get parched again.”

The Mandalorian nodded, rising to their feet before both of the Mandalorians left, locking the door behind them. Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand through his hair.

He looked around his cell, though calling it a cell felt almost ungrateful. The room had a slightly dilapidated feel, as though it had been left abandoned for a long time before being hastily cleaned and prepped, but otherwise it was actually quite nice. There was a bed and a fresher and he’d been provided several different forms of entertainment, from data pads to a dejarik board.

Of his different stints being held captive, it was by far the kindest bout of captivity he’d ever faced.

There were no windows, and the door frame had some sort of beskar lining that made it Force resistant. The last room Obi-Wan had been in had had a similar set up, but Obi-Wan had found a weakness in one of the walls and had used the Force to crash through.

He hadn’t even made it half a hallway before a Mandalorian had been on him, and though Obi-Wan had managed to evade being brought down immediately, there had been more of them than him, and he’d still eventually been captured again and deposited in this new room.

There had been no beating, no threats… just the sudden addition of Force suppressing cuffs. He wasn’t being mistreated, he just wasn’t allowed to leave.

And he didn’t know _why_.

No one ever questioned him, not about the Jedi and not about Satine’s movement.

They just kept bringing in new Mandalorians to _look_ at him.

The longer this went on, the more he felt like he should have realized that something was wrong back when he’d first arrived on Mandalore to help the Duchess. Because the reactions he received now? Weren’t actually _new_.

Ever since Obi-Wan’s initial arrival on Mandalore he’d been the recipient of long, heavy stares.

He’d just assumed it was because he was a Jedi, and when Qui-Gon didn’t seem to be getting those same stares, he had quietly assumed it was because, for many humanoid cultures, Obi-Wan was considered at least somewhat attractive.

It wasn’t something he was proud of, but he’d learned long ago that it could cause problems if he wasn’t aware of the implications.

Though, the sheer _number_ of stares had made him want to doubt that.

And then there had been the… questions. And really, that had only supported Obi-Wan’s theory that the stares were due to his physical appearance.

It certainly hadn’t been the first time that he’d had to explain the Jedi’s views on attachment, and that _no_ , he was not in a relationship nor was he looking to be in one, and that, yes, he was quite certain on that.

So yes, it had happened a little more often then usual, and Obi-Wan’s bad feeling had been a steady background noise nearly every time—not like the bad feeling he’d gotten that time a slaver had tried to kidnap him so that they could sell him as a sex slave, but not something Obi-Wan wanted to ignore either—but he hadn’t been able to place it, and Qui-Gon insisted that he keep his senses on the ‘here and now’.

“Well, guess what, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan muttered to himself. “I was right, the bad feeling _was_ important.” He sighed. Not that he was any closer to figuring out _what_ they wanted him for.

He’d thought, at first, that they’d grabbed him by mistake. There’d been a bit of a skirmish with Death Watch and Obi-Wan had been in charge of keeping Satine safe while Qui-Gon dealt with them, when a second squadron of Mandalorians had come out of nowhere. They’d been aiming at Satine, Obi-Wan _knew_ they’d been aiming at Satine.

Obi-Wan had been doing his best to reflect the blasts and get Satine to safety. But his opponents had been precise and skilled and they seemed expertly capable of dealing with Jedi. And there’d been _a lot_ of them.

A blast had gotten past his guard and Obi-Wan had known that it was going to hit Satine. Obi-Wan had done the only thing he could, and had thrown himself in the way.

Qui-Gon had still been distracted with the first squad, Obi-Wan had been out of commission, and while Satine wasn’t _helpless,_ her determination to not fight often made her an easier target. It would have been easy enough for these new enemies to take either _just_ Satine or both Obi-Wan _and_ Satine…

Except Satine wasn’t _here_. And from what Obi-Wan had been told when he’d demanded to know, they hadn’t bothered to grab her in the first place.

Which made it sound like Obi-Wan had been the target the entire time, that they’d only been aiming for Satine because they’d known Obi-Wan would take a hit for her, and tricking him into getting hit was easier than aiming for him.

Obi-Wan sighed, because going over the circumstances that had brought him here didn’t do him any good. He flopped back onto the bed, glaring up at the ceiling because the bed was _comfortable_ , and that just broke all the rules of being held captive and Obi-Wan was a senior padawan, he should know what to do! But he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to handle this.

He tried to focus on everything he knew again.

He’d been specifically targeted.

Each Mandalorian that had been brought in to see him had said something about ‘recognizing’ him. Or at least recognizing some sort of ‘sensation’ about him.

Satine had never said anything about Obi-Wan being recognizable, so he didn’t have a whole lot to go on with that.

Several of the Mandalorians had mentioned Jaster and his Be’alor. But Obi-Wan was quite certain both were dead. He’d never seen pictures of either though, so maybe they thought he was, what, some long lost kid?

He scoffed, because his mind was running away from him. Not only was that just _ridiculous_ , it also made no sense.

And what was a Be’alor anyways? He’d figured that it was some sort of tie to the Mand’alor, but they treated it like it was a title in it’s own right, though it wasn’t one he was familiar with. He made a note that if he got back to the temple—when, he corrected himself sternly, _when_ he got back to the temple—he’d make sure that all of the information on Mandalore was brought up to date.

He jumped back to his feet and started pacing. He was getting itchy to _do_ something. He’d been here two weeks now, and yet _nothing was happening_ , and it was driving him _insane_.

There was a knock on the door and the one of the Mandalorians who came by most often stepped in with some water and food.

“Anything else you need?”

Obi-Wan glared at them. “A spar?” he suggested sarcastically. “This room is going to drive me _insane_.”

To Obi-Wan’s surprise the Mandalorian shrugged. “Sure, follow me.”

Obi-Wan blinked as the Mandalorian turned and headed out of the room, gesturing for Obi-Wan to follow. This was… this had to be a trap, right? It couldn’t be _that_ easy to get out of the room.

Except the Mandalorian did nothing as Obi-Wan followed him out of the room. Obi-Wan scowled as he noted the two Mandalorians that had been just outside his door.

They both followed after Obi-Wan, making it clear that this wouldn’t be an easy attempt to escape. Somehow Obi-Wan didn’t think that three, fully armored Mandalorians versus one, not-able-to-use-the-Force and completely unarmed Jedi Padawan was in anyway a fair fight.

Not that that would stop Obi-Wan if he saw something that looked like it was even a _remote_ chance to get out of here.

He was led outside for the first time since he’d been grabbed. Obi-Wan took in the landmarks as well as he could, but there wasn’t much to see other than desert and farm land, which meant even if he escaped it would take a good deal of effort and luck for Obi-Wan to get back to his Master and Satine.

He once again got the sense that they were somewhere long ago abandoned, and that the house and area surrounding it had only recently seen living beings again.

Which… wasn’t promising. That seemed to mean that they had come out here specifically because they didn’t want to be found.

The three Mandalorians led him around the house to the backyard and Obi-Wan could see that training grounds had been set up.

“So, a spar,” The first Mandalorian, the one who’d brought Obi-Wan out here, turned back to Obi-Wan. “Conditions?”

“I don’t suppose I could get my lightsaber back?” Obi-Wan asked.

Obi-Wan got the sense that the Mandalorian found him amusing. “No.”

“Not going to arm me?” He crossed his arms, giving the armor the Mandalorian wore a pointed look. “Seems a little uneven.”

The Mandalorian paused, and then shrugged, before raising their hands and removing their helmet, presenting Obi-Wan with a young man who could only be a few years older than Obi-Wan himself.

Obi-Wan tried to reconcile this new development, but like everything else, nothing really made sense.

“No armor, no weapons.” The young man said, and started moving for the rest of his armor.

Obi-Wan watched as the young man kept removing the rest of his armor, placing it carefully on a bench beside the training yard.

“All right.”

Obi-Wan stepped more fully into the training yard and started stretching while subtly observing the situation, the two other Mandalorians were standing on each side of the training yard, and Obi-Wan noted with some annoyance that one of them had a jet pack which would make them even _harder_ to get away from.

A moment later his opponent joined him, stretching easily, a sharp grin on his face. “Conditions?” he asked again.

Obi-Wan shrugged. “No killing.” Not that he really thought the other _would_ , at least given the way the rest of his captivity had gone, but it was always best to put that out there.

The man’s face broke into a smile. “I think we can manage that.” The man didn’t wait for Obi-Wan to say anything further, springing forward.

Obi-Wan had spent far too much time fighting with Quinlan to be caught off guard that way, and dodged the hit, grabbing the man’s outstretched arm and pulling him off balance.

The man recovered quickly, knocking Obi-Wan away and twisting back to face Obi-Wan before Obi-Wan could follow up on the momentary advantage.

Obi-Wan circled a little, watching his opponent carefully. He was both taller and broader than Obi-Wan, but was still quick. Confident, perhaps a little too confident, if Obi-Wan could lull him into a false sense of security. Capable outside of his armor but, Obi-Wan decided as the man attacked again, not used to having to defend his weak spots.

Obi-Wan let himself fall into the fight, exchanging hits and dodging in and out, doing his best to deflect the worst of the blows. Hand to hand wasn’t Obi-Wan’s forte—he was always best with his blade in his hand—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t good at it.

And better, his opponent clearly thought that without his lightsaber and access to the Force that Obi-Wan wasn’t _really_ a threat.

If that was true, Obi-Wan would have been dead a long time ago.

After several minutes, Obi-Wan saw his chance. His opponent lunged forward again, and Obi-Wan twisted beneath the man’s reach, coming up and getting a solid hit to the stomach, making his opponent bend forward enough for Obi-Wan to get a hand to the back of his opponent’s neck, a knee to the man’s stomach in a second hit and then his opponent was off balance enough to fully shove to the ground, Obi-Wan following behind to keep him pinned.

They stayed there a few moments, both breathing heavily, before his opponent laughed. “Not bad.”

Obi-Wan pushed himself up and let his opponent get to his feet.

Obi-Wan nodded, and he couldn’t help but smile, the blood was rushing through his veins and while there was still energy buzzing just beneath his skin, he felt less like he was about to burst from his skin. “Not bad yourself.” He hesitated. “I don’t think I ever got your name?”

It wasn’t an apology, because Obi-Wan didn’t think he should have to apologize to his captors, but it was a concession, of sorts. “Orin.”

“Obi-Wan.”

Orin grinned. “I know.”

Obi-Wan valiantly didn’t roll roll his eyes.

Orin rolled his shoulder, wincing a little. “Think you’re good now, or do you need another spar?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, because he _did_ feel better, but there was still so much energy bursting beneath his skin and Obi-Wan didn’t exactly want to hurry and get re-locked into the room he’d been given.

“I could do another.”

Orin nodded, but he didn’t move back into position, instead moving back to his armor. “Viz’s got you.”

One of the Mandalorians who’d been standing guard moved into the training yard. Though, Obi-Wan noted with no small annoyance, he waited to start stripping himself from his armor until after Orin had fully armored up again. They seemed annoyingly serious about ensuring that Obi-Wan never had less than two fully armored Mandalorians guarding against his chance at escape.

He took the time while his two guards switched places to stretch a little more to keep limber. Viz, as Orin had called him, was older than both he and Orin, with dark hair with it’s first line of grays. He was solidly built, with broad shoulders, and Obi-Wan got the sense that a hit from Viz would have enough power behind it to severely wind his opponent.

Viz gave him a gruff looking smile as he stepped into the training yard. Obi-Wan could see what he hadn’t quite seen in Orin’s eyes—the sharp cunning that came from experience.

Some part of Obi-Wan wondered what Viz saw in his own eyes.

The fight was short and brutal. Viz attacked first and unlike Orin, who had lost the advantage near immediately, Viz kept it, keeping Obi-Wan entirely on the defense.

Still, Obi-Wan gave as good as he got, and when Viz’s blow had him keeling over—because Obi-Wan had been right, the man hit like a _speeder_ —he didn’t hesitate to use his new position to introduce the back of his head to the man’s nose.

Obi-Wan was used to being smaller. Used to being weaker.

He still ended up pinned, but he was viciously pleased to note that Viz was the one who was left bleeding.

“Not bad.” Viz commented, extending a hand to help Obi-Wan to his feet. “You’ve got a vicious streak, kid.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, even as he felt a sour twist in his stomach, because he’d heard that before. While Viz seemed pleased with the discovery, Obi-Wan was more used to the words coming as a warning and condemnation.

The Mandalorians all waited for Viz to re-don his armor before they escorted him back to his cell. Orin cheerfully told him that he’d get some fresh clothes sent his way to replace the now bloody tunic he was wearing.

Obi-Wan just nodded, heading to the fresher to get clean, even as he added everything he’d learned from the afternoon into vague plans of getting out of here and back to Satine and his Master.


	2. Chapter 2

The spars became a daily thing, and while Orin was Obi-Wan’s most common sparring partner, he met quite a few others as well.

Master Drallig had once said that how a person sparred was a window into who they were. Obi-Wan didn’t think it was a foolproof method for learning about a person, but Obi-Wan filed everything he noted away. He didn’t know when it would come in handy, or if it ever would. But they were his captors, and he’d be remiss if he _didn’t_ try and learn as much about them as he could.

The second day of sparring introduced him to Ruusaan, a slightly older woman who fought like a nexu and who watched Obi-Wan’s every move with keen and cunning eyes.

Then there was an older man with a mean look about him who was called Vau and fought dirty. Atrait that Obi-Wan suspected was not confined to a spar.

A few days later, a twi’lek named Ruz, who was quick and sharp, though somewhat distractible, their spar almost ended with a broken wrist on Obi-Wan’s part before Obi-Wan managed to get the twi’lek pinned.

Ruz had apparently made his home on Ryloth but had been called to Mandalore _purely_ to assess Obi-Wan, though Obi-Wan didn’t learn _that_ from the spar but rather from listening in.

What he—and, for that matter, every other Mandalorian—had come to assess, however, was still a mystery. Because no one bothered to explain what it was about Obi-Wan that they were assessing, and frankly, whatever it was seemed to have little to do with Obi-Wan, since the assessment tended to resolve around looking at Obi-Wan and then declaring that ‘yes, the sensation is muted, but there’.

More people mentioned Jaster and his Be’alor. More people mentioned the ‘alor, and getting him to come back.

Mostly, there were just more and more people.

Obi-Wan was starting to lose his confidence that he’d be able to get out of here, because as the days went on, Obi-Wan found that the area where Obi-Wan was being kept was not getting less secure, but rather _more_ secure as more and more Mandalorians showed up. While the majority still came and then left, there was a steady trickle of Mandalorians who came and then _stayed_ , either putting up temporary accommodations, living in the ships that stayed parked on the outskirts, or moving temporarily into the large farmhouse, as though they were waiting for something.

The only bright side to this was that the more Mandalorians that showed up, and the tighter overall security became, the looser the restrictions on Obi-Wan were.

While he still spent the mornings nominally alone—which he theoretically used to meditate—he spent less and less time in his room during the day. He was allowed to wander the farmstead, so long as he didn’t mind being accompanied. He was invited to participate in different activities, from helping with the set up of a small sleeping area for the incoming Mandalorians to joining in on a few games. And he joined different groups for dinner every night instead of eating alone in his room.

It was the strangest, most infuriating bout of captivity Obi-Wan had ever experienced.

He _knew_ he was captive. The constant guarded escort a fairly solid indicator.

But they refused to _treat_ him like one.

It made him want to lash out, to force them to show their true motives and intentions instead of playing mind games with him.

He _wouldn’t_ let it work though. He knew very well that kindness wasn’t a true indicator of goodness. He’d had plenty of people be kind to him before stabbing him in the back, and after stabbing him the back, for that matter.

He wouldn’t let this lower his guard.

Still, he played along. It was better, he told himself, when he found himself almost genuinely enjoying being taught how to play cu’bikad, this camaraderie would only benefit him in the long run, if he could get his captors to lower their guard.

Especially if they were letting him hold knives. Even if it were just during the game.

So he listened, and planned, and tried to figure out what was going on.

Satine was mentioned every now and then, from what the Mandalorians said—when they bothered to talk in Basic and from what Obi-Wan was able to translate from their Mando’a—she was still being targeted by Death Watch, though both sects seemed to have run into some sort of stale mate, a ‘shift’ that the Mandalorians talked about, eyes gleaming with knowledge, that meant that the power on Mandalore was as tentative as ever.

Tradition was the cause of the current stalemate from what Obi-Wan could put together. Some of Satine’s New Mandalorians were suddenly refusing to support her claim to rule—and Obi-Wan didn’t know what a Dral’runi was, or why the fact that Satine _wasn’t_ one would cause a problem—while similarly, some of Death Watch’s followers were defecting, claiming that their leader, someone named Vizsla—who apparently _was_ a Dral’runi—hadn’t gained the bond that came from being Mand’alor.

“I can’t see Vizsla pulling the bond.” Someone argued. “Say he wins the challenge—”

Several people guffawed and Obi-Wan heard someone add a snide mutter of, “no chance, the mans’s a coward.”

“—there are other Dral’runi who are more likely to win the shift to ‘alor than him.”

Obi-Wan frowned as he took a bite of food, and then chanced it. He didn’t normally speak during these things, hoping they’d forget he was there and give him more information, but this was a conversation he’d heard before, and he was fairly familiar with the way it would deride into taunts about Vizsla and Satine. As much as he enjoyed hearing them make fun of Vizsla who Obi-Wan had already had one, very unenjoyable interaction with, he enjoyed it far less when they were deriding Satine.“What _is_ a Dral’runi?”

The people closest to him fell silent. Across from him, Ruusaan leaned back in her chair, twirling her fork in her fingers—some of the sauce flew off the utensil to hit Cort sitting next to her—as she watched him. “Dral’runi. It means someone who has a soul mark, someone with a strong soul.”

Obi-Wan accepted that and decided he might as well push his luck while someone was answering his questions. “And you can’t be Mand’alor without being Dral’runi?”

Ruusaan nodded. “That’s right.”

Interesting. He filed the information away. It didn’t make much sense to him as a way to choose a leader, but he understood that every culture had their own ways of doing these things. He’d certainly seen cultures where their traditions made any less sense to him. It didn’t make it wrong just because he didn’t understand it. 

“What do the Jetii call them?” Ruusaan asked, and the attention in the room seemed to spike in a way that made Obi-Wan cautious.

“What do we call what?”

Ruusaan rolled her eyes as though she knew he was stalling. Obi-Wan couldn’t be blamed for being cautious of anything his captors— _Mandalorian_ captors—seemed strangely interested in learning. Even if he didn’t know why or how something like this could be used against the Jedi.

“We don’t have a term for it,” he said slowly. “Jedi don’t have soul marks.”

“Never?” Someone asked, voice dubious.

Obi-Wan shrugged. “There are accounts that Jedi _used_ to, but the general consensus is that those stories are just fabrications. There’s no actual _recordings_ of Jedi ever having soul marks, so presumably it’s just the case of stories growing out of proportion. Incredibly effective Knight pairs whose bond was over-exaggerated.”

Ruusaan hummed, and she exchanged a sharp look with a few of the others. “Really. Not a single one. The odds of that have to be…”

“Not likely,” someone else finished.

He didn’t like the way they had reacted to what wasn’t that big a deal. Soul marks weren’t exactly common in the wider galaxy, and most people already thought Jedi were a strange breed as it was. In fact, most people were _unsurprised_ by the fact that Jedi didn’t have soul mates, just another signifier of their ‘otherness’. “The Jedi believe that our souls are to be wholly devoted to the Force,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging a little to create an impression of dismissal.

It made sense to him. He’d known that he was meant to be a Jedi for as long as he could remember, it was the only path for him, the only future that made any sense. That his whole soul was meant to belong to the Force only made sense.

Someone scoffed. “Right. The _Force_.”

Obi-Wan scowled in the direction of the voice. “I didn’t say anything derogatory about _your_ beliefs.”

The person who’d scoffed held up their hands, an older man that Obi-Wan had seen watching him but had yet to speak with. “Of course, _apologies_.”

Obi-Wan doubted the sincerity of the apology, but he didn’t say anything else, aware that he probably shouldn’t have snapped back at the man in the first place. Just because no one had hurt him yet, didn’t mean he could trust in that.

The ‘good nature’ of his captors could change at any time.

Ruusaan was still watching him. “You have more questions.”

Obi-Wan eyed her back, she _looked_ open and willing. “A couple.” She made a sweeping gesture that seemed to indicate ‘go for it’. “If Satine can’t rule because she’s not Dral’runi, and Vizsla’s Dral’runi but can’t claim leadership, because he hasn’t—” he hesitated there, because he was still a little unclear on how this part worked “—been acknowledged as Mand’alor, then who do you believe _should_ be leading Mandalore.”

Ruusaan rolled her eyes. “The Mand’alor.”

“Who is?” Obi-Wan prompted. “Satine said that Fett was killed, and that no one had taken his place.”

Ruusaan’s smile was deadly. “You should be careful about who you listen to. People like Kryze will believe and say whatever they need to to get power.”

Obi-Wan blinked slowly at that. “So Fett _is_ alive?”

“Clearly.”

Obi-Wan blinked again and slowly took in the people around him again.

True Mandalorians. In hindsight it seemed incredibly obvious, but he’d been told they’d been wiped out, and had assumed that his captors were some mix of either disenfranchised New Mandalorians or Death Watch or even just those that had never chosen a side.

“If he’s alive, then where is he? Why isn’t he here?”

No one answered, and Obi-Wan got the sense that it was something of a contentious topic.

“He’ll be here.” Ruusaan smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Obi-Wan. You’ll meet him soon enough.”

Everything about that—the words, the tone, the smile—made Obi-Wan feel deeply uncomfortable and just a little bit afraid. He didn’t exactly _want_ to meet Jango Fett, Mand’alor and Jedi Killer. That seemed like a very fast way to end up dead. “Why am I here?”

Around the table several people shifted, sharp looks being sent Ruusaan’s way that even Obi-Wan could read as saying ‘shut up’.

Ruusaan leaned back, smiling. “Next question.”

Obi-Wan nodded, not really surprised at the question being ignored, even if he was slightly surprised by the clear and willing way they had tolerated the rest of his questions. “Why now?” he asked instead. “Why wait until Satine’s movement had almost won to step in? Why not before when it would have surely been easier for you to gain power?”

Ruusaan nodded, and Obi-Wan felt like she was approving of the question. “We took a heavy hit after Galidraan. Especially with the temporary displacement of the ‘alor. We weren’t in position to move forward. But, well, you could say we were given a sign.”

“A sign.”

“Yes. That and the right incentive to bring our ‘alor back.” Her eyes were bright and fervent, and even without the Force Obi-Wan thought he could feel the energy building in the small group. She stood. ”That’s enough for tonight.”

Obi-Wan nodded, accepting the decision for what it was, turning over all of the new information that he’d been given as he was escorted back to his room.


	3. Chapter 3

The knock at his door had him standing from his latest attempt at meditation, getting to his feet just as the door opened and one of his captors stepped in.

The Mandalorian was dressed in blue and silver armor that Obi-Wan didn’t recognize, a new Mandalorian then, likely here to ‘assess’ Obi-Wan.

For a long moment they just stared at each other.

“So you’re Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan eyed him for a moment, rubbing his palm against his side as it itched with sudden anxiety. “I am. And you are?”

The new Mandalorian tilted their head, silent in a way that seemed to fill the air between them with something that _ached_. He hated not having access to the Force. “I hear you like to spar.”

Obi-Wan nodded, feeling cautious of this new Mandalorian in a way he hadn’t been since the beginning of his captivity. “It gets me out of this room.”

The Mandalorian glanced around the room, but didn’t say anything, just stepped to the side and gestured for Obi-Wan to step out.

Obi-Wan watched him for a second longer before following the implicit instructions and exiting the room.

The two guards at his door stiffened when he stepped out, and even though they were both wearing helmets Obi-Wan could tell they were staring at him.

He was _used_ to being stared at, by this point. Had been being stared at since the moment he showed up on Mandalore. That hadn’t prepared him for _this…_ He didn’t even know what this was, except that the staring—the staring he couldn’t even _see_ —had a new and sudden intensity to it. He found himself freezing in his tracks.

The newest Mandalorian stepped up behind him. _Right_ behind him, resting a hand on Obi-Wan’s back. “Come.”

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment longer, reeling a little from all the subtle things that were _off_. He hadn’t actually recognized it before, but outside of the daily spars, no one had actually touched him. The pressure on his back increased slightly and Obi-Wan forced himself to move, trying to increase his speed just subtly enough that the Mandalorian wouldn’t realize Obi-Wan was trying to escape the hand on his back.

They traveled in silence, Obi-Wan tried to figure out what had happened to cause this sudden change in atmosphere. They passed a few other Mandalorians on the way to the training grounds and it was becoming incredibly clear that the new intensity was not a fluke. He could feel their stares like an actual, physical pressure.

Obi-Wan found himself almost grateful when they finally reached the training yard, the staring hadn’t changed, but at least he knew how to handle himself at the training yard. Sparring was almost blissfully uncomplicated.

Obi-Wan watched as his newest sparring opponent removed his helmet and began to remove his armor.

He was older than Obi-Wan, with dark hair and sharp eyes that looked like they could pin someone in place and then eviscerate them. They were close in height, though Obi-Wan thought he might have the slightest advantage there, while his opponent was broader. Fast, Obi-Wan decided, watching the muscles that seemed to have been perfectly toned to be both agile and strong.

There was something else about him though, something that Obi-Wan couldn’t pin to any specific bit of physicality.

Most of the Mandalorians Obi-Wan had fought were dangerous. They were _Mandalorians_. Even with that, though, Obi-Wan couldn’t remember if any of them had ever screamed danger quite the way this new one did.

“No killing,” the man said, his voice amused. “I hear that’s a standing condition.”

Obi-Wan nodded, shifting a little bit, eyeing the space between them and estimating how quickly his opponent could cross that space. Too quickly, was Obi-Wan’s guess. “I believe permanent maiming has also been disallowed.”

His opponent snorted, and his eyes were glittering with something that _might_ have been amusement. “I don’t suppose you ever put a wager on these spars, do you?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “No one’s been willing to wager the one thing I want.”

“And what is that?”

The man sounded like he already knew the answer, but Obi-Wan gave it anyway. “To be let go.”

This new competitor hummed a little, eyes trailing over Obi-Wan appraisingly. “All right. I’ll allow it.”

From the side of the training yard someone sputtered. “—but, what—”

His opponent glanced to the side where Orin was standing guard, and immediately Orin silenced, straightening into almost military-like precision that Obi-Wan hadn’t seen from Orin before.

“I win,” Obi-Wan said slowly, “and you let me go.”

His opponent nodded. Obi-Wan glanced between the man and Orin, taking into account the way Orin had been silenced by a single glance. This man might actually have the pull and influence to actually _make_ that promise.

The list of people who seemed to have that influence was small, and included Ruusaan, Vau, Ruz, and Skirata, none of whom had even entertained the thought. Skirata and Vau had outright _laughed_ at Obi-Wan’s pointed ‘request’.

“And if you win?” Obi-Wan asked, somewhat hesitant. If freedom was the offer, then the potential cost had to be high. Maybe too high.

“You’ll listen,” his opponent said after a long moment. “You’ll hear me out.”

Obi-Wan frowned at that. Because that seemed… simple enough, though the simplicity of it made him wary. “That’s all?”

The man’s smile was downright dangerous and Obi-Wan felt it deep in his gut. “And I get to kiss you.”

Obi-Wan felt his eyes widen in surprise, his mouth dropping open a little bit.

Despite Obi-Wan’s earliest concerns about the intent behind the way everyone seemed to watch him, since he’d been captured none of the stares had really seemed to have anything to do with attraction.

Until now.

The way the man was watching him, Obi-Wan realized, seemed to have quite a lot to do with attraction. His cheeks warmed, and he found himself taking in the man in front of him again, though this time it was less in anticipation of what he’d be fighting and more his own perusal.

He regretted it instantly.

The man across from him was… not unattractive, Obi-Wan noted. And that hint of _dangerous_ , that Obi-Wan didn’t particularly want to meet in a fight was more attractive on this man than it had any right to be.

Obi-Wan shook the thoughts away, because it didn’t matter. Obi-Wan had a chance to get out now. All he had to do was win this fight.

And the cost, a kiss and being willing to listen to this Mandalorian, was far from the extortionate price he’d been expecting. He could survive one kiss, and it wasn’t like he’d really have a choice about listening to the Mandalorian if he did lose.

He was a prisoner, it was somewhat implied that the Mandalorians could do whatever they wanted to him, talking to him was absolutely included in that.

“Deal.” Obi-Wan said. “My freedom if I win, and if I lose—”

“I get to kiss you and you’ll hear me out,” the man finished. He extended a hand, clearly indicating that they should shake, and Obi-Wan stepped forward to seal the deal.

The shake was short and quick and Obi-Wan had barely let go of the man’s hand before his wrist was being grabbed and the fight had started.

His opponent was fast, and despite not having been around before today, seemed to already have an idea of how Obi-Wan fought, countering Obi-Wan’s moves at every turn, and responding to each with strikes that he knew would bruise.

If Obi-Wan wasn’t positive he hadn’t seen this Mandalorian before he’d think the man had been watching his previous spars and had familiarized himself with Obi-Wan’s specific form of fighting.

It was a frustrating disadvantage.

Obi-Wan _had_ to win.

He purposefully let himself be knocked to his back, then used his lower position to vault his opponent over his head. It bought him a second of time to scramble to the far side of the training yard, getting his first real bit of space during the fight.

He was winded, the hits his opponent had gotten in and the exertion he’d put in getting this far making him breathe heavily.

He was a little glad to note that his opponent was looking a little worse for wear himself. At least Obi-Wan wasn’t the only one.

Obi-Wan took the space to start circling, trying to buy himself a little time.

This man was better at hand to hand then Obi-Wan, there was no hiding that, and was familiar with how Obi-Wan fought.

Or at least familiar with how Obi-Wan _had_ been fighting. Obi-Wan would need to switch it up. Ataru was far easier with the Force, but Obi-Wan didn’t have that right now, but he could adapt.

He shifted his stance, pulling at the reserves inside of him.

His opponent raised a single eyebrow at the slight change and smiled.

Obi-Wan flung himself into a backwards hand stand as his opponent charged, catching the opponent with his legs and pushing.

His opponent recovered quickly, eyes glinting with something approaching delight at the sudden change of pace, and they engaged again. The acrobatics would tire Obi-Wan out faster, but they kept his opponent off-beat, never quite sure what to expect.

Obi-Wan did his best to mesh the two disparate fighting styles into one, despairing at the clunkiness of it, but it was buying him time and space.

Obi-wan kept up the pattern for a while longer, deflecting and avoiding the worst, getting his own hits in when there was an opening, fully engaging his entire body in this fight for his freedom. There was an almost pattern to their strange chase.

He waited for an opening, not sure what it would be until he saw it. The man’s guard a little too high. He ducked beneath the arm, coming up to go for the throat

His opponent slipped away at the last second, but Obi-Wan still managed to turn the attack into a glancing blow to the man’s head, causing the other to stumble, Obi-Wan jumped on the momentary weakness, and felt a moment of hope when it looked like he might be able to pin the other beneath him

His opponent rammed his shoulder straight into Obi-Wan’s solar plexus, and while he hadn’t had enough momentum to do damage, it still forced Obi-Wan to fall back, twisting away from the other’s attack before their positions could be turned.

They circled again, his opponent moved first, Obi-Wan flipped up and behind the man—he missed the Force and the ease in which he would have been able to perform that move—the Mando was a beat too slow to turn, and Obi-Wan went for his legs, forcing the man to the ground.

It was the wrong move, Obi-Wan realized grimly a second too late, as his opponent caught his leg, bringing Obi-Wan down with him. Before, Obi-Wan had been able to use his slight speed advantage and flexibility, but here on the ground his opponent had the edge.

Obi-Wan lunged up, twisting, but his opponent went with the roll, adding his own momentum so that Obi-Wan ended up on his back again, one wrist pinned to the ground above his head. Obi-Wan bucked, but the man had an arm at Obi-Wan’s throat and was _pressing_.

Obi-Wan’s free hand came up to claw at the arm, but he couldn’t pry it loose. He didn’t stop until the world was greying around the edges and he didn’t have enough oxygen to continue the struggle.

“You concede?” The voice was right against his ear.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, but he needed to breathe, needed _air_. “Yes.” He gasped out, or tried to.

Either way the man seemed to understand because the arm on his throat disappeared and Obi-Wan almost desperately gasped for oxygen.

The man didn’t move from off of him, Obi-Wan’s hips still trapped where the man straddled him, one wrist still pinned above his head. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, still reeling from the end of the fight, to see amber eyes staring down at him.

“You’ll be deadly in armor.” The man told him. Before Obi-Wan could even start to wonder what that meant, Obi-Wan’s breath was cut off again, this time to a pair of lips kissing him with a powerful, demanding insistence that Obi-Wan fell apart under. He found himself whimpering into the kiss, letting his lips fall open and tilting his head in an instinctive attempt to give the man _more_.

His brain was blank from a lack of air when the man finally pulled back.

“I see you’ve decided to become acquainted, ‘alor,” a familiar voice said, and suddenly reality was back.

Ruusaan was standing there, several recognizable Mandalorians gathered behind her along the edges of the training yard.

“Yes.” The man didn’t move from off of Obi-Wan, but his fingers were trailing down Obi-Wan’s arm, gentle and proprietary and Obi-Wan was frozen, Ruusaan’s greeting echoing in his ears. _‘Alor_.

He couldn’t possibly have heard that right.

“The bond is stronger,” Ruusaan said, and she was looking at Obi-Wan with intent eyes, seemingly completely unbothered by his position _under the Mand’alor_. “But there’s still something blocking it.”

“There’s another Jetii on planet, yes?”

Obi-Wan glanced at the man above him, suddenly anxious, because Fett had to be talking about Qui-Gon. Fett’s hand—if this _was_ Fett, and Obi-Wan would really like someone to clarify that _right_ now—had trailed along Obi-Wan’s arm and to his shoulder, and Fett gave it a soft squeeze in what _might_ have been comfort, but might have also been a warning not to move.

“Yes. He’s been searching for this one.” Ruusaan waved to Obi-Wan. “We’ve led him on quite a merry chase.”

Fett tilted his head, staring down at Obi-Wan. “Bring him in.”

“Yes ‘alor.” Ruusaan gave another glance at Obi-Wan, and this time she smiled at him, and it was one of her friendlier smiles. “It’s good to have you officially with us, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan just stared as she left, most of the Mandalorians following after her.

His gaze was diverted as the man above him—Fett, was this really Fett?—moved, tilting forward.

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to do, as lips covered his again, and he tried to keep still, to not react. After a moment, Fett pulled back, clearly displeased. “You said I could kiss you.”

“One kiss,” Obi-Wan protested.

Fett hummed, and he leaned a little until his forehead was resting on Obi-Wan’s, eyes closed. “No actually, the deal was that I got to kiss you, standing permission. If you’d wanted to limit it, you should have said something then.”

Obi-Wan thought back to their deal, and he supposed that, yes, Fett’s words could have carried that implication, Obi-Wan wanted to hit himself for not having thought that bit through as much as he should have.

“You haven’t introduced yourself,” Obi-Wan said instead, because even though he _thought_ he knew who he was talking to, he’d really rather have confirmation.

“I was told you were quite bright. I’d rather thought you’d figured it out for yourself.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure who had given _that_ analysis. “The Mand’alor. Jango Fett.”

Fett hummed, and one eye cracked open. “You can call me Jango, cyare.”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, because he was pretty sure he knew what that meant and he didn’t like the sound of it at all.

“We just met,” Obi-Wan said, because Fett was still on top of him, and didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move.

“Yes,” Fett agreed, and he shifted forward until their noses brushed. “But that doesn’t change the facts.”

 _What facts?_ Obi-Wan thought a little hysterically. Because _nothing_ made sense. “I don’t know what—”

“I know, I know they haven’t told you.” Fett interrupted. “But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out and then everything will be all right.”

“Figure _what_ out?”

This time Fett opened his eyes, and they were so close that Obi-Wan felt near paralyzed under the fierce gaze. “Who took your soul mark and how to get it back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this took quite so long, it was actually pretty much done ages ago, but I picked up another job and am working between 65-75 hours a week right now. So... yeah. Doesn't leave much time.
> 
> Also, timeline wise... Jango *did* free himself, and has been free about a year, but was too traumatized and hurting to come back until the True Mando's were like 'we found your soul mate and we'll absolutely use him as bait to get you to come back.'


	4. Chapter 4

Obi-Wan let himself be escorted back into the house, still reeling.

Fett hadn’t bothered to explain anything more, assuring Obi-Wan that they would have a more in depth discussion later. But Obi-Wan wasn’t an idiot, or not a complete idiot—though he was starting to doubt that a little bit, because in hindsight a lot of things seemed clearer, even if he wasn’t sure _how_ he was supposed to have made the connection—and he thought he finally had enough information that he’d figured most of it out.

For some bizarre reason, the Mandalorians were convinced he was Jango Fett’s soul mate.

 _Be’alor_ , he remembered them saying. He reminded them all of Jaster’s Be’alor.

As much as he’d like to double check the information in a dictionary, he rather thought he knew what that meant now.

The soul mate of a Mand’alor.

Except that was the most ridiculous thing Obi-Wan had ever heard. He _didn’t have a soul mark_.

And they _knew_ that.

He shivered a little at the memory of someone claiming to have strip-searched him while he was unconscious; it had been disturbing then and it was more disturbing now.

He’d always heard that Mandalorians were incredibly practical people, but frankly he was starting to doubt that. Because what sort of practical person, upon discovering that he _didn’t_ have a soul mark, instead of assuming that they’d been wrong about him being someone’s soul mate, decided that there was _actually_ some sort of conspiracy that involved his soul mark being taken.

In what galaxy was that practical?

He froze as his escorts took him past the normal hallway that led to his room. “Wait, we—”

“New room,” Orin said, and his voice sounded far too cheery for Obi-Wan’s taste.

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything else, because he was pretty sure he knew why he was being brought to a new room and he didn’t like it.

Despite himself he felt his cheeks turning warm, a memory of being pinned beneath Fett while the man stole Obi-Wan’s breath in a dominating kiss flashing through his mind.

It had been the adrenaline, Obi-Wan assured himself. Just a mix of the adrenaline and the unexpectedness of it all, that was why Obi-Wan had reacted the way he had, why he’d wanted _more_.

He certainly didn’t want more now.

His guards ushered him into a new room and Obi-Wan took it in quickly. It was nearly the same as his old room, though the bed was slightly bigger and there was a window that would give him an excellent view of the sunset.

He turned away for a moment before freezing.

A window.

He glanced back towards the door but it had already been closed behind him, his escorts undoubtedly now standing guard just outside the door.

There was no time to lose, and Obi-Wan crossed the room quickly, keeping his steps as quiet as possible just in case, by some chance, they were listening closely enough to figure out what he was doing.

He glanced at the window, checking all the sight lines.

Could he really have gotten this lucky? The majority of the camps were on the other side of the house, which meant that he had a relatively clear shot.

There were a few Mandalorians on the far right, sitting around a sabaac table, but they seemed absorbed in their game and Obi-Wan thought there was a good chance he’d be able to sneak past them if he was careful. And lucky.

It took him a minute to get the latch undone. It was stiff, another sign that this place had been abandoned for quite some time before it had been made a temporary base, and Obi-Wan’s fingers were trembling more than he wanted to admit.

Finally, he slid the window open, glancing back at the door once more, the coast was still clear. He wished he wasn’t stuck in these Force suppressors, the Force would be very useful to have right now.

He slid onto the window frame, estimating the distance to the ground. Not far, close enough that even without the Force it was safe enough. Not that he was sure it would have stopped him from trying otherwise. He pushed himself off the ledge, landing in a roll that ended with him flat on his face.

He stayed flat to the ground, glancing once to the right where the small group was playing Sabaac but none of them had noticed him out of their peripheral. He moved slowly to his feet.

Part of Obi-Wan wanted to run, but the calmer, more rational part of his mind reminded him that that would draw more attention to himself then just casually walking.

He set off, trying to appear casual if anyone _did_ happen to glance his way. He was on a count down. He didn’t know how long he had before either Fett or one of the others checked the room and saw that he was gone.

Somehow, he doubted he had long. Maybe he was misreading the situation, but he didn’t think Fett wanted to be separated from him for long.

He glanced at the many ships along the outskirts, but quickly decided that could backfire if he chose the wrong ship.

With the Force he might have been able to determine which ships were empty, but without it, it would be a gamble. And even if he _did_ guess safely, he didn’t have an ignition chip, and while he might be able to get creative, there was a pretty high chance that most of the ships had a method to track them that would take Obi-Wan valuable time to dismantle.

No, on foot was safer.

Hopefully.

With his decision not to go for the ships and his desire to try and get away as fast as possible, his best shot would be to head towards the tall grass and wheat fields to the East.

He just had to get away for now, after that he could start worrying about where he was going and how he’d get there.

He glanced backward, he was getting relatively far from the farmhouse, but that meant if anyone _did_ seehim now he was inherently a suspicious figure. Time to increase his pace.

He broke into a jog and made his way into the wheat field. It had been left to grow wild by whoever had last lived here, and the wheat came high enough that Obi-Wan could stay low to the ground and would hopefully be difficult to spot.

There was the sound of yelling, indiscernible from this distance, but Obi-Wan had little doubts as to the cause.

His absence had been noted.

He crouched further into the field, evaluating his options. Again, he wanted to just hightail it and run. But he would be spotted almost immediately and then his only chance would be outrunning his pursuers, given that they had jet packs, speeders, and ships, and he didn’t even have the Force. He wouldn’t bet on himself.

If he stayed low to the ground and still, there was a small possibility they wouldn’t find him. Then he just needed to stay out of sight until nightfall where night would hopefully make it easier for him to move without being seen. He knew his own abilities, and he could cover a great deal of ground on foot, even without the Force.

He hated it, but stillness would be his friend far more than speed would right now.

Time seemed to stretch on, and Obi-Wan had no way of determining how close his pursuers were, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

When it finally came, the whisper of wheat brushing against armor and soft footsteps was almost a relief, at least now he knew where they were.

There were multiple people in the fields now, and he did his best to keep track of all of them. There were no words to guide Obi-Wan’s attention, and he silently cursed the helmets they wore that allowed them to communicate in private.

Only two rows away from where he was lying, Obi-Wan saw a heavy pair of boots teaming along the earth and he held his breath, waiting for them to move on. Perhaps if he could slowly move over, he’d be able to hide where they’d already searched.

The steps paused and Obi-Wan held his breath. Long moments seemed to pass before the boots moved further away, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let the breath he’d been holding out slowly.

He kept his movements slow as he carefully started inching backwards in the opposite direction the Mandalorian was headed.

He glanced up at the sky, just after noon. He made a face at the sun, as though it was the sun’s fault that he’d chosen to make the jump out the window so early in the day.

Still, he might not have gotten another chance, Fett might have realized the danger or putting him in a room with a window and might have moved him, or put a guard outside the window, and then Obi-Wan would essentially be back in the same position as before.

“You know.” The voice behind him sounded amused, Obi-Wan froze for a split second and he thought his heart might have literally stopped beating, before he twisted and jumped to his feet in one smooth motion. “Your hiding place might have worked better if I hadn’t done the exact same thing myself, once.”

Once again in full armor, Fett stood mere feet away, watching Obi-Wan.

How had he gotten so close?

Obi-Wan was _better_ than that, had been tracking half a dozen other Mandalorians, perhaps not easily, but still successfully. How in the Force had Fett gotten so close?

Obi-Wan didn’t have time to wonder though, instead, giving up stealth as a lost cause, he turned and ran.

Fett was after him immediately, and Obi-Wan darted sideways through a line of wheat. He zig-zagged erratically trusting his instincts, narrowly missing two stun bolts and a fibercord whip.

He heard the sound of a jet pack igniting and cursed quietly, dropping to the ground.

Just in time. Obi-Wan stumbled back to his feet, changing direction because now Fett was in front of him.

He saw the flash of sun glinting against armor a dozen feet in front of him. He jerked to the left.

Qui-Gon had often had Obi-Wan run around the temple for six hours in the name of training Obi-Wan’s endurance—a training that _had_ unfortunately come n use for Obi-Wan several times since—but he had the sinking feel that, no matter how long Obi-Wan could maintain this, and without the Force it wasn’t six hours, he wasn’t going to be able to go long enough.

The Mandalorians had all of the advantages.

Fighting his way out also wasn’t much of an option. His opponents were fully armored and there were too many of them and Obi-Wan had no weapons other than his own body.

His likely inevitable re-capture was no reason to give up though. Maybe, for once in his life, he’d actually get lucky.

He almost ran right into another Mandalorian, he threw himself to the left, putting him closer to Fett than he’d planned.

A fiber whipcord caught his ankle, nearly sending him stumbling toward the ground, only barely catching himself.

It was enough, though.

Obi-Wan groaned at the heavy weight of a grown man fully clad in beskar’gam crashed into him, sending them both rolling to the ground.

For the second time in as many hours Obi-Wan found himself pinned under Fett, both hands forced above his head while Fett leaned over him.

Obi-Wan couldn’t see the man’s face, what with the helmet in the way, but Obi-Wan had the distinct feeling that the Mand’alor was _furious_.

“You ran.”

Obi-Wan squirmed beneath the man, trying desperately to throw Fett off, but he was far too heavy, and the hands were tight enough around his wrists that Obi-Wan had no chance of ripping them free.

“What did you expect?” he asked, because this whole thing was _too much_. “You’ve been keeping me captive for weeks, making ridiculous declarations with no proof to back them up, and from the sounds of it, clearly don’t plan on letting me go.”

“You are _mine_ , ner’runi. Ner kar’ta, ner runi, gar draar ba’slanar. Nu draar. Suvari?” With each word that Obi-Wan didn’t understand, the hands around his wrists somehow tightened even further, and it _hurt_.

It was the first time out of a spar that one of them had actually hurt him, he realized, and he wasn’t even sure Fett realized he was doing it.

“Tayli’bac?” Fett’s voice was fury encased in steel, and Obi-Wan felt like they were on a tipping point, but he didn’t even know what Fett was saying.

“Fett, please. I don’t understand.” It came out closer to a plea than he wanted, but somehow it seemed to be, well, not the right answer, but it stilled Fett.

For a long moment they stayed there, Fett leaning over Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan staring up at the man’s helmet.

And then Fett loosened his grip around Obi-Wan’s wrists, turning almost gentle.

“Ni ceta, Obi-Wan.”

And then Fett was holding both of Obi-Wan’s wrists in one hand and reaching for his belt, Obi-Wan didn’t have a chance to take advantage of the weakened grip, before Fett had a hypo in his hand.

“No, I’ll come back, that’s not—”

The hypo pressed against his skin cut off his protests, and he struggled, he _refused_ to just lay there and take it.

Fett was climbing off of him, pulling Obi-Wan up after him.

Obi-Wan barely managed to regain his feet, before the drug had him falling over. Fett caught him easily and Obi-Wan cursed in as many languages as his drugged mind could remember before he was being hoisted up into Fett’s arms and the world steadily went gray and then black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I was in a hurry and forgot to add the translations at the end!
> 
> “You are mine, ner’runi. Ner kar’ta, ner runi, gar draar ba’slanar. Nu draar. Suvari?”   
> My soul (as endearment). My heart, my soul (stated factually), you’re not leaving. Not ever. Understood?
> 
> “Tayli’bac?”   
> Understood? (But more vehement.)
> 
> “Ni ceta.”  
> I’m sorry. (Most sincere form of apologies.)


	5. Chapter 5

“I would have preferred the room with the window, really.” Fett’s voice said, voice permeating the haze of sleep. Obi-Wan wondered if the man had been talking the whole time or if he’d somehow realized that Obi-Wan was slowly waking. “But you’ve already proved why that might not be a good idea.”

Obi-Wan considered his options for a long moment. It was incredibly tempting to just _ignore_ the man talking, and pretend he was still blissfully unconscious. But this conversation, at least, seemed inevitable, and procrastinating it didn’t seem likely to gain Obi-Wan anything. He forced one eye to crack open so he could find Fett to glare at him. The man was sitting in a chair beside the bed, his feet kicked up to use the bed as a footstool. “You don’t have to share my room.”

Fett shrugged. “I don’t need sex from you, if that’s what frightened you into running earlier.”

Obi-Wan blinked at the bluntness of the statement, a wave of relief coursing through him. Obi-Wan hadn’t realized just how frightened of that possibility he’d been until the threat of it was gone. “I see.”

“That’s not to say that I _never_ want to have sex with you,” Fett continued, because apparently he couldn’t let Obi-Wan have even a moment of peace. “But we won’t have sex until you want it.”

“And if that’s never?” Obi-Wan asked, because if he had any say in it it _would_ be never.

Fett just shrugged again. “Then we never have sex.”

Obi-Wan considered that for a long moment and decided that Fett _seemed_ sincere, though he didn’t have the Force to help him gauge the truth of that. Even if he wasn’t, Obi-Wan would be better off lowering the man’s suspicions in him by acting like he _thought_ it was sincere. “Thank you.”

Fett just hummed for a long moment, his gaze intense and settled completely on Obi-Wan. “We should probably establish some ground rules.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at that, in what he hoped came off as sarcastically surprised. _Imagine_ his captors wanting to establish rules. “Do I get a say?”

Fett tilted his head, a quiet smirk crossing his face. “That depends.”

That was… a better response than Obi-Wan had been expecting. “On what?”

Fett snorted. “On whether you’re willing to be reasonable.”

Obi-Wan scoffed, and slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows, the drug was still in his system, if the sluggish way his body responded to his mental demands was any indicator. “You realize _you_ kidnapped me, right? Or at least your people did. I’m not exactly the one being unreasonable.”

“You’re my soul mate,” Fett responded as though that was some sort of valid reasoning.

Obi-Wan was tempted to rip the reasoning to shreds, but decided to turn to something inarguable. “I have no soul mark.” Obi-Wan gestured to all of himself. “One of your men checked, _everywhere_ apparently.”

Fett’s eyes drifted over his body and Obi-Wan saw a flare of what might have been anger or jealousy, but Obi-Wan was too tired to try and deal with any of that.

Fett leaned forward, and when he spoke, his voice was fervent and intent. “Explain to me, then. How _every single Mando’ade_ that has seen you has felt the call of the Be’alor. Explain to me how _I_ feel it, the tug that binds you to me and me to you, and the both of us to our people.”

“I don’t know, maybe your mystical Be’alor bond doesn’t work as well as you thought it did.” Obi-Wan snorted. “You hear yourself, right? You hear how ridiculous it sounds?”

Fett just raised an eyebrow. “As ridiculous as you and your _mystical_ Force.”

Obi-Wan fought a retort, except Fett had a point, sort of. He was pretty sure he’d called a Mandalorian out just a few days ago for being dismissive about Obi-Wan’s beliefs, but his beliefs hadn’t led him to abducting anyone, which Obi-Wan really thought should be taken into account. “Still—”

“The bond between a Mand’alor and their people, as well as the bond between Be’alor and Mand’alor has, without fail, held true for _thousands_ of years, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan took a moment to wish that the Temple records on Mandalore had said more about this, because Obi-Wan felt like he was trying to navigate the situation blind and Force-null.

“Then why don’t I feel it?” Obi-Wan asked, wishing that his desperation wasn’t quite so obvious in his voice, because it was the only argument he could think of that seemed to have any potential to hold weight. He could _not_ be this be’alor if he did not have this… this bond that Fett spoke of.

“I don’t know,” Fett admitted, and Obi-Wan suspected that Fett acknowledging ignorance was unusual, and to admit ignorance about something like _this_ must be truly rare. “But I’m going to find out.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Obi-Wan pushed. “If all of you are wrong, are you just going to _keep me here_?” The hysteria was absolutely leaking into his voice and Obi-Wan hated it. He was a Jedi Padawan, he should be more in control.

Jango tilted his head, eyes sharp as they took Obi-Wan in. Obi-Wan raised his chin and hoped he looked defiant instead of petulant. “Give me a year. You stop trying to run, stop trying to plan your escape. Give me a year to prove it.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to scoff at the absurdity of the ‘request’, then stopped himself considering the situation, because the way Fett had said that, it _almost_ sounded like a request—almost—which opened up the possibility for negotiations. “A week.” Fett did scoff, raising an eyebrow. Obi-Wan sighed, because his diplomacy classes had always emphasized the need for ‘good faith’ negotiations, clearly a week didn’t seem like good faith. “A month.”

“Nine months.”

“Two months,” Obi-Wan retorted quickly.

“Six months.”

Obi-Wan hesitated, because Fett was dropping much faster than Obi-Wan would have thought. “Three months.”

Fett seemed to consider it for a long moment, but shook his head; there would be no further budging. So much for good faith negotiations. But then, Jango had all the power, he didn’t need to act in good faith. He had all the power. “Six months and no Force suppression.”

That was enough to make Obi-Wan pause, the thought of having the cuffs removed and his connection to the Force restored was… It was almost enough to make him agree automatically. Almost. He _longed_ for the return of the Force. Still, Fett was being… suspiciously reasonable. Not _actually_ reasonable, but more reasonable than Ob-Wan would have guessed. “Say you prove yourself right. What if I don’t want to stay, even after?”

Fett froze at that, and it seemed like he genuinely hadn’t even considered the possibility that Obi-Wan wouldn’t want to stay.

“You’re my _soul mate_.”

Obi-Wan didn’t care if it was rude, didn’t care if it made him look impatient. “I am _possibly_ your soul mate. And even if I am, some mark that may or may not exist doesn’t get to determine my future, and I’m surprised you’d let it determine yours.”

Fett was clearly at a loss, but he recovered quickly enough, face falling into a mask. “Six months, no Force suppression. If I prove I’m right before the time is up, you still have to stay with me the full time, you have to give this a chance. No running, no leaving, no pushing me away. And then and _only_ then, if you want to leave I’ll let you.”

Obi-Wan stared at Fett, considering all of the options. Considering whether he could trust Fett’s word. “And if I run before then?”

Fett’s feet slipped from the bed as he rose from the chair until he was leaning over the bed, leaning over Obi-Wan, eyes boring into Obi-Wan’s own. “You know the answer to that.” Fett’s smile was slow and dangerous and Obi-Wan felt his heart speed in something like fear. “I’ll follow you to the edge of the galaxy, ner’runi, and I’ll bring you back to me.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, because he could _feel_ the promise echoing in his soul, sinking into his bones like a weight that could hold him down.

“All right,” he agreed. “I agree. You have six months to prove I’m your soul mate, and at the end of it, when I leave, you’ll let me.”

Fett shifted forward, crossing the space between them. “If you leave, ner’runi. _If_ you leave.”

Obi-Wan didn’t even have time to protest before Fett was kissing him again, slow and deep and making Obi-Wan feel like Fett might devour him and somehow Obi-Wan would still enjoy it.

It took more strength then Obi-Wan had expected to finally push Fett away, his hands clinging to him instead of pushing him away like he’d meant to.

“Stop. Fett. You can’t—”

“We had a deal, cyare,” Fett countered. “And you already tried to break it once when you ran. You agreed to _listen_. To hear me out.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t thought that _this_ was what Fett had meant when he’d agreed to the deal. Clearly a lesson in the importance of ensuring he understood the finer parts of a deal before agreeing to it.

“Just kissing, you’re not... You said… you said no sex.”

“No sex,” Fett agreed. “Just kissing and anything else you decide you want.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t going to want anything else, so _that_ wasn’t a concern.

He closed his eyes, considering the situation. He wanted to protest, but at the same time, if Fett thought he wasn’t willing to so much as _think_ of giving this a chance then he might retract on the rest of the deal.

What was a little kissing in the grand scheme of things anyways?

“All right.”

Fett rewarded his acquiescence with another light brush of his lips against Obi-Wan’s own, but thankfully did nothing to try and deepen it.

“A few other rules.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, but nodded. If Fett could add rules, then so could Obi-Wan.

“You share my bed.”

Obi-Wan had actually expected that, and since he’d already ensured a promise that Fett wouldn’t go any further than Obi-Wan was willing, it seemed ridiculous to try and fight that rule. Too much. “Only if there are no more guards chaperoning my every move.”

Fett leaned back a little, clearly trying to decide if he genuinely believed that Obi-Wan wouldn’t try and run again.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what Fett saw, because Obi-Wan wasn’t sure himself. Running would only end with him being chased, whereas if he just held out for six months then he could walk out of here and not have to worry about being dragged back.

So long as Fett was a man of his word. The thought made him uneasy, but he _had_ to believe that Fett was a man of his word or this whole thing was a moot point.

“All right,” Fett conceded finally. “No chaperones _unless_ there’s a situation involving either the Jetii or Death Watch.”

“Death Watch I’ll agree to.” Because being with the Mandalorians would probably keep Obi-Wan safer then trying to deal with Death Watch on his own. “But not the Jedi.”

“And let them try and steal you back?” Fett scoffed. “No.”

Obi-Wan grit his teeth. “I gave my word.”

“And you’re not even sure if you believe yourself,” Fett countered, and Obi-Wan looked away, not liking that he had been so easily read.

“Fine.”

“You call me Jango, or something else equally appropriate. No more _Fett_.”

Obi-Wan sighed, closing his eyes, because he was already tired, and this had only just started. “Fine.”

Fett—Jango—seemed to soften. Or at least the fingers that brushed against his skin were gentle. “It’ll be okay, ner’runi. I know it doesn’t seem that way now.”

Obi-Wan didn’t bother to say that Fett had kidnapped him, that this was coercion. He was starting to think that these people _genuinely_ didn’t understand that, and he didn’t understand how they could miss something so clear.

“The Mand’alor belongs to their people,” Fett said quietly. “And the Be’alor to their Mand’alor and people both.” Fett’s breath was light against his jaw. “You’ll see, you’ll understand.”

Obi-Wan just let out a quiet sigh, felt Fett’s lips brush against his own, gentle and patient. Six months, just six months and then Obi-Wan would leave this insanity behind. “If you say so, Jango.”

“I do.”

Obi-Wan let Fett kiss him for several long moments, before drawing back. “Take the cuffs off.”

Fett pulled away, and Obi-Wan didn’t like the way Fett looked at him as though he’d thought he’d _won_. He hadn’t won anything.

Obi-Wan was far from beaten; he’d survived several months of captivity before and nearly a year of war; and while he was far from a perfect Jedi, he _was_ a Jedi and Fett would be a fool to underestimate him. Not that Obi-Wan would do anything to stop him from doing just that, the earlier mistakes Obi-Wan had made would only serve to convince his captors he was less capable then he was.

“All right” Fett grabbed something from a belt pouch and Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes as the man brought the device forward. Fett seemed… remarkably prepared. As though he’d already planned on conceding in these ways.

Six months, Obi-Wan reminded himself. Fett could prepare himself as much as he liked. But in six months it would all be a moot point.

Fett caught Obi-Wan’s left hand, holding it almost tenderly as he put the device against the left cuff. It popped open on a practically invisible seam. Obi-Wan jerked his hand back immediately, he could feel the Force as though it was just beyond a curtain, still just past his senses, but Obi-Wan suspected if he stretched for it he’d be able to grasp it again.

Fett caught his right hand, still gentle and tender, and brought the device up again.

The rush of the Force crashing through him was strong enough that Obi-Wan felt as though he’d been mentally shoved against a wall by a tidal wave of power. _Oh_. It was like ripping off a blindfold only to look straight into the sun, blinding and overwhelming and painful.

He reveled in it.

There was too much information to take it all in, cosmic whispers, bad feelings, foreign emotions. Obi-Wan let it all crash over him.

Slowly everything settled, the roar of power settling into a cool, calm pool.

Some of the tension he’d been carrying since he’d been captured settled. He was no longer alone, the Force was his ally.

His other senses took a moment to come back online, the sensation of a hand cupping his cheek, the quiet whisper of Fett speaking in hushed Mando’a. Obi-Wan forced his eyes open, shifting as he did so that he could pull away from Fett.

Surprisingly, Fett allowed it, moving back to his own chair.

Obi-Wan took a moment to observe the man again, the Force swirled around him in jagged eddies. Fett was a cool, stark presence, with strong shields that nonetheless failed to hide the sharp edges that ached with grief and pain, letting soft wisps of emotions through.

Fett met his eyes easily, as though he knew that Obi-Wan was taking a measure of him.

Fett, Obi-Wan decided, was a very dangerous opponent.

He turned away from the man. “I’m tired.”

Fett let out a quiet sigh, and Obi-Wan searched the emotions that slipped through the cracks, amusement, soft exasperation, _fondness_. Obi-Wan settled the reaction aside for later consideration. “Then sleep. I’ll come join you in bed soon.”

Obi-Wan didn’t respond, just let himself fall back into the bed, shifting as far to the side as he could before turning on his side so his back would be to Fett.

He really was tired, despite the fact that he’d spent so much of the day drugged. There’d just been… too much. Too much insanity, too much delusion, too much _mess_.

He wrapped the Force around himself, reveling in it’s touch.

Six months, that was all.

Six months, and then he’d be gone.


End file.
